


Keeping Christmas

by jeremystollemyheart



Category: The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows - Stiles/Drewe/Grahame
Genre: Background Mole/Rat, Christmas, Gen, Holidays, heavily references A Christmas Carol, tiny bit of angst but mostly fluffy and gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremystollemyheart/pseuds/jeremystollemyheart
Summary: Badger has plans to celebrate Christmas alone with a good book. Of course, things never go quite as planned. Maybe that’s for the best.
Relationships: Badger & Mole, Badger & Rat, Badger & Toad
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Keeping Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas has been weird this year. I decided to cope by writing fic. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> As always, big thanks to the folks in the Wind in the Willows discord server, especially catsafari, thescarletpaperback, tremendousdetectivetheorist, and thedrunkenwerewolf for the conversations that at least partially influenced this fic.

Christmas Eve came, cold and snowy, with howling wind. It was the sort of night that made you appreciate your home, especially if it was situated underground and you had a comfortable chair, something warm to drink, or an excellent book. It so happened that Badger had all three, and so he settled in for a quiet evening. 

It was the right and proper way to spend the holiday, he decided with a certain touch of stubbornness. Still, his mind wandered to other celebrations, almost against his will, as he tried to read. 

_ Marley was dead: to begin with.  _

Toad was no doubt in Toad Hall, surrounded by beautiful decorations that he had never so much as laid a finger on, and good food and drink, and as much festivity as you can drum up when your only guests are your army of butlers. 

_ There is no doubt whatever about that.  _

Whether by the Riverbank or at Mole End, Ratty and Mole were no doubt mulling wine and singing holiday tunes to one another, either traditional ones or songs Rat had penned for the occasion. If he knew them at all, there was probably an overabundance of mistletoe, and no lack of holiday cheer.

_ The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. _

Of course, that was all perfectly fine if you were the sort of animal who went in for noisy festivities or overindulgence or—

Or being invited to join celebrations. 

_ Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. _

It was not their fault, and he did not begrudge the younger generation their fun. He remembered far too many raucous holidays with Toad Senior and Rat Senior for that. He would never confess it to the  _ current _ Mister Toad, but the adventures of their younger days had rivaled some of the amphibian’s own, and holidays were always celebrated with gusto, and always together. Until at last there had been no “together,” there had only been Badger. 

Time rolled on, new traditions were formed, and old ones fell away. That was as it should be. He had his home and his books, and plenty of time to appreciate the holiday season in silent contemplation.

_ Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. _

The knock that came to Badger’s door not two minutes later startled him so greatly that he dropped his book and sloshed the contents of his mug a little. He listened hard in the silence that followed, but heard nothing and almost convinced itself that it was the wind before the knocking came again, this time too distinct to be ignored. 

Although it was likely some poor soul out on Christmas Eve, lost in the wind and snow, he felt a sudden and uncharacteristic pang of fear, half expecting to go to the door and find his own undigested bit of beef, blot of mustard, crumb of cheese, or underdone fragment of potato standing outside. All the same, he picked up his book and set it aside with his mug before abandoning his arm chair and going to the door.

When he opened it, he did not find the ghosts of his past. He found their children. 

Toad, Rat, and Mole stood peering in, stamping their feet and blowing puffs of steam to keep warm. Their faces were ruddy and their arms were full. Rat’s teeth chattered as he grinned and said, “Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?”

“Of course,” he moved out of the doorway so that the trio could enter: Toad first, eager to get out of the snow and away from the Wild Wood, Mole next, longing for the scent of good, rich earth, and finally Ratty, glad to be out of the cold and politely reticent about his feelings towards underground dwellings. 

“Can I offer you a cup of tea?” He asked, once they were all inside and removing overcoats and mufflers. 

“Perhaps something stronger,” Rat suggested, finding a spot for the massive basket he carried and removing a couple of bottles. Mole and Toad followed his example, dropping their burdens as well. Mole’s basket was filled with decorations, while Toad’s was filled with brightly wrapped presents. 

There did, in fact, turn out to be more gravy than grave about these holiday visitors. In addition to the spirits, Rat’s basked held a variety of foods, savory and sweet. He unpacked them, explaining as he went, “ _ Most _ of the food is courtesy of Toad’s staff, although Mole and I made the pie. And Mrs. Otter has her paws full with the little ones wanting to stay up all night waiting for Father Christmas, but she sends her love, and a tin of biscuits.” 

By that time, the other two had already started stringing up decorations: paper garlands, tinsel, and strands of popcorn. Seeing him standing in uncharacteristic confoundment, Mole laughed and asked, “You didn’t think we could forget you, Badger? On Christmas?”

“It was my idea, naturally,” Toad added, balancing precariously on a chair to drape a paper chain off of the top of the bookshelf, “I said to the other fellows, ‘I say, chaps, it being Christmas Eve and all, oughtn’t we to pay a visit to Badger?’”

“It was Mole’s idea,  _ actually _ ,” Rat interjected, when Mole himself would not leap to his own defense.

“Well, yes, Mole may have mentioned it, in passing—“

“ _ Toad _ ,” Rat’s voice this time held a note of warning, his way of saying that he didn’t want to start a fight on Christmas Eve, but that he hadn’t ruled it out yet.

“And we all thought it was such a cracking idea, we packed our things immediately,” Toad changed course deftly. 

“It’s alright, Ratty,” Mole promised, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he nibbled on the end of a popcorn string. 

“However you chose to come,” Badger interrupted diplomatically, taking a glass offered to him by Rat, and ferrying the rest around to his two other guests, “I assume you’ll be staying the night?”

“If it’s no intrusion,” Mole requested, sounding suddenly a little concerned about having invaded his home unexpectedly. 

“Intrusion?” He blustered, “Of course not. It’s far too late, to say nothing of cold, for a return journey this evening.”

For that, the trio of guests toasted their host and commenced with the merrymaking. By the time everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, Badger had found it in himself to regale the younger generation with some of the more tame holiday stories of years past, including a rather good one about Rat’s father singeing his whiskers while trying to light the brandy for the Christmas pudding. Rat fiddled protectively with his own whiskers as he listened.

Afterwards, Toad wanted to distribute gifts immediately, as excited to give the ones he had picked out for his friends as he was to receive the ones they had gotten him. In the end, he was overruled by the rest of the group, who wanted to wait until morning. This would give Badger (who had not anticipated guests  _ or _ gifts) time later in the evening to retreat to the bit of tunnel he had claimed for a wine cellar and retrieve good vintages to pass off as presents.

“Badger?” Mole’s voice broke through the comfortable haze of quiet companionship once the group got tired of talking and lapsed into warm silence. For a moment, Badger had almost dozed off. 

“Hmm, yes Mole?”

“What were you reading?” 

Mole was examining the book he had abandoned, holding it close to his face and squinting at the small typeface. He reached a paw behind his glasses to rub at his eyes, and Badger plucked the book away from him before he could strain them further. 

“Just an old holiday ghost story.” 

He was reminded once again of the holiday ghosts  _ he _ had feared, before the living had come to chase them away with food and decorations and gifts, with petty squabbles and kind words, “Would you like me to read it to you?” 

“Oh, yes, please,” Mole said eagerly. Toad and Rat, also on the verge of dozing, roused themselves as well, gathering around. 

“Marley was dead: to begin with,” Badger read for the second time that evening, this time out loud. He read on and on, all the way to living in the past, the present, and the future, and to keeping Christmas well, and to those last words of Tiny Tim, which were punctuated by a snore from Toad. Not an impolite or bored one, simply a snore of a deep and thoroughly enjoyable sleep after a long night of fun and good company. Mole and Rat had gone to sleep as well, with the latter leaning on the arm of the sofa and the former laid against his shoulder. Rat’s tail had curled, apparently unconsciously and instinctively, over Mole. 

Badger surveyed the scene, weighing whether or not he should wake his guests and send them to bed, or simply leave them there, with Rat and Mole on the sofa and Toad curled into an armchair built with a larger animal in mind. 

In the end, they all looked too peaceful to move, so he hauled in armfuls of blankets and tucked all three of them in against the cold evening before heading off to bed himself. 

Tomorrow, Christmas would dawn with further celebration: leftover food and gifts. At some point Ratty would strike up a song in his warm baritone, Mole would follow in his piping tenor, and in his excitement Toad would endeavor to drown them both out with his exuberant (if croaky) voice. Badger would listen, or perhaps even join in. 

The thought warmed his heart in a way he had not anticipated. It wasn’t that he couldn’t recall the last time he had celebrated Christmas like this. It was that he could. Although he felt that it should have been bittersweet, he found that it wasn’t. For the first time in years, he could recall those happy memories without a pang of something he had never before been willing to refer to as loneliness. 

As he fell asleep, finally dreaming of more than just Christmases past, the words of the story came back to him in faint echoes. 

_ I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. _

The three animals in his parlor were not visiting spirits. They were not lessons, metaphors, or dreams. They were his friends. He did not need to demand more of them. 

Outside, wind whipped and snow fell. And in his home, three animals who had braved the dire weather to celebrate Christmas with him slept soundly. Badger slept too, warmed by fond memories, nearby companions, and the promise of a gentle future. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr @jeremystollemyheart!


End file.
